STI: Going cold turkey

Jul 7, 2004

Going cold turkey
by Loh Keng Fatt

ABNORMAL, the results showed.

That was the e-mail from my doctor who had analysed the results of my recent annual medical check-up.

He was referring to one red-alert indicator from the treadmill stress test.

It seemed that the heart was not getting enough oxygen towards the later stage of the nine-minute test.

This could imply clogged blood vessels which affect the supply of oxygen and nutrients, and might signal a risk of heart attacks.

But not to worry, he added in the e-mail. Just take it easy on the aerobic activities. He would see me again and refer me to a cardiologist.

That was on a Friday. My weekend was shot. Should I tell the family or keep quiet until I was more certain of the state of my health?

I can never hide a secret at the best of times. And I believe that fathers should level with their family for it's the least they deserve, especially considering that health is a matter of life and death.

So I told them gently, on the same day itself, that the medical had picked up something which might or might not be bad news.

I said matter-of-factly that human bodies are not immune from wear and tear, but if certain parts become wonky, there are ways to get the system back into working order.

But, at the back of my mind, I was worried. Parents want to stay healthy to be there for their children, at least well into their young adulthood.

We want to be there at all the major milestones - from playing football for the first time for their school to graduating from university.

Parents also dream of playing grandparents.

In my case, I try to increase the odds of survival. I aim to live healthily.

I exercise. My workplace has a gym and I do spend time there regularly to sweat out all the body's impurities and inject tone and flexibility into the muscles and joints.

Now that I often have to drive my son to his school early on Saturday, I visit the nearby Bukit Timah Nature Reserve to find peace trekking through its many serpentine trails.

I do not smoke or drink. I eat the basic three meals a day and have no desire to pig out on sweets, soft drinks or snacks.

In fact, I could put on a few more kilos without the doctor giving me a dirty look.

For these reasons, I have always thought I was safe from the ravages of disease and advancing age.

Horror writer Stephen King thought he was immune, too. In his preface to Gunslinger, which he rewrote because he said that was done when he was in his college days, he explained how he now saw the book's characters differently.

Life at 18 is different from life at 55 or 65, he said.

When you are young, you think you are invincible. But sooner or later, he noted, that guy with the twisted sneer and cruel knife catches up with you.

And so, it seemed to me, too, that that bogeyman had caught up with me when the word 'abnormal' screamed out from my health report. IT'S scary to think about your own mortality. The reaction, in the face of bad news, is to clutch at anything which can possibly explain away the imperfection.

Was I too physically tired, I wondered, before I did the treadmill test?

Two days before, I had laboured up the Dairy Farm trail on Bukit Timah. There's a stretch with about 200 steps cut into a fairly steep incline.

It was probably not a good idea to put the weary body through the treadmill test two days later, I reasoned. This was what explained the abnormal reading, I concluded with some hope.

They say there's always a silver lining behind a dark cloud. I found it in my sons' reaction to the troubling news.

They showed their love and common sense. They warned me in no uncertain terms to stay away from any exercise, at least for a while.

They took charge of a bit of my life, and I saw in them the men I hope they will grow up to fully in years to come.

They said: 'You tell us not to do this and that, and we comply, so now we expect that you do the same.'

I had no choice but to obey though exercise junkies would know that it's not easy to slow down. We are all addicted to the rush of well-being that comes from a good workout.

But I did not want to let the boys down so I went cold turkey on the exercise.

It would be ridiculous if I were to collapse just for the sake of crafting more muscle out of the body.

I did consult the cardiologist in due course. The good doctor calmed me somewhat by saying that the results of the stress test are never 100 per cent accurate.

It was more like 60 per cent.

He suggested a second test, but with scans of the heart before and after.

I did well this time. The images showed a heart pumping away with full force.

I SMSed the elder kid later - 'doc says i m ok'.

He replied: 'What about Dad, leh?'

He thought that it was his mother who had SMSed him - I was using her mobile phone.

I was touched, but was also put off by the word 'leh' (mmm, after all these years of teaching him to use proper English?).

But it did prove one thing. Life's like that.

When everything's okay, you agonise over the silliest, tiniest, most inconsequential thing.